


take me to the finish line

by missymeggins



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Pete I need you to keep me company tonight so I don't do what I've done for the past five nights in a row and booty call H.G Wells."</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me to the finish line

**Author's Note:**

> _take me to the finish line_ | **Warehouse 13;** Myka/H.G | r | for [](http://effie214.livejournal.com/profile)[**effie214**](http://effie214.livejournal.com/) 's prompt _(540): Too late. I'm going over there. I'm a bad example for all women: Do as I say, not who I do_ at the [Texts From Last Night ficathon](http://openended.livejournal.com/669696.html)

 

  
  
It's nearly one in the morning and Pete's lying on Myka's bed. They're supposed to be watching a movie but he can feel her restless beside him. It's a bad sign; they're only five minutes in.  
  
“I really want to go over there,” she says abruptly, sitting up and tossing her packet of Twizzlers aside. (Also a bad sign. It's serious when not even Twizzlers are enough to keep Myka distracted.)  
  
“You're not going over there,” he says warningly. “Just focus on the movie.”  
  
“No. I'm _going_ over there Pete,” she says, swinging her legs off the side of her bed without yet standing. (She's probably having an internal argument with herself at this very second, he thinks. He knows Myka and he can tell she doesn't truly know what she wants in this moment.)  
  
“No. Myka. You're not,” he says, firmly but gently.  
  
“You know what,” she says, standing and spinning to face him. “I don't care if I'm being the worst example in the world for women everywhere. Do as I say Pete, _not_ who I do,” she says waving her hands in the air almost manically. (On second thought, maybe it's best she doesn't eat any more Twizzler's, he thinks. She's kinda scary like this. Well, she's scary a lot actually, but this is a whole new level.)  
  
“And I'm serious about the 'who I do' part,” she continues, pointing a finger at him – a gesture only Myka Bering can make seem threatening. “I hope you know your tongue down her throat is the furthest you're _ever_ gonna get.”  
  
“Whoa what the hell?! Step back Mykes, you know I would _never_ go there!” he says, jumping off the bed now to stand in front of her and look her in the eye, a visual reminder that she's his best friend and he's on her side. Always. (She should know this anyway. But her head hasn't been in the greatest place lately so he lets it slide.)  
  
“Yeah, well. I'm just making sure,” she tells him, her voice less manic now and almost a little embarrassed as she breaks eye contact and shifts on her feet. “Now,” she says, trying to compose herself. “Let me go over there.”  
  
She remains rooted to the spot.  
  
(He has to stifle a grin at this because Myka doesn't _ask permission_ for things. Ever. Especially from him. But he understands, she's looking for reassurance about what to do because she can't find it in herself and she's hoping he'll make the decision easier for her.)  
  
“No,” he says, hands on her shoulders as he gently steers her away from the door toward her bed.  
  
“Pete!” she squirms, trying to wriggle out of his grip but he sits her down and takes a spot beside her.  
  
“Myka! You told me not to let you do something stupid,” he reminds her.  
  
“Pete please, Helena's the least stupid person I know,” she answers and the funny thing is, her face is completely serious.  
  
He rolls his eyes. (One day he'll make a point of teasing her with those words, cos really, it's so un-Myka to make comments with innuendo like that but lately she's developed a fairly one track mind where H.G Wells is concerned. And that track is most definitely _not_ of an intellectual nature.)  
  
“Come on Myka, you know you two can't keep doing this. That's why you asked me to keep guard remember?”  
  
“I did not say _keep guard_ ,” she huffs and her face says she'd kind of like to hit him right now. But she doesn't. (She's actually been working really hard on that.)  
  
“Myka, you said – and I quote -”  
  
She cuts him off. “Oh no! Don't you dare quote me Pete Lattimer.”  
  
But he ignores her. He's willing to take the risk that she'll hit him for this one because, frankly, he's a little worried about her. He just wants to see her happy and content instead of this reckless, wild version of herself she's been recently. (Reckless just doesn't suit her. It's not _Myka_.)  
  
“ - Pete I need you to keep me company tonight so I don't do what I've done for the past five nights in a row and booty call H.G Wells,” he finishes saying.  
  
“Ugh,” she narrows her eyes at him. “I hate you for quoting that. I was drunk!”  
  
“Yes! Just two hours ago! And this is what you've done pretty much every night since we got the Warehouse back, since _she came back_. You get drunk and then you go across the hall for a booty call from H.G Wells!”  
  
He pauses, shaking his head a little. “Man, saying that sentence is never going to stop being weird,” he says to himself, breaking from his train of thought for a moment before turning to look at her again, continuing now with a softer tone. “I just don't get it Mykes, why can't you just _talk_ to her and work out where you stand?”  
  
“Because talking is _hard_ Pete,” she whines. “And sex is easy. Especially with Helena,” she adds as an afterthought.  
  
“Whoa, okay hold up a second,” Pete says, raising his hands in the air and shaking his head. “Look, you're my best friend and I love you so I'm here for whatever you need, but there has _got_ to be a line. I can't hear about your sex life Myka. It's too weird,” he tells her with an almost nauseated look on his face.  
  
She cracks a grin now and can't help teasing him a little. “Oh yeah? How do _you_ know it's weird?” she says, bumping him with her shoulder.  
  
Pete groans and shakes his head to clear away the absolutely unwanted images that threaten to form in his mind. “Okay seriously, did we like switch brains or something? I'm just gonna try and forget you said that. Seriously Myka, what are you doing? This isn't like you.”  
  
She sighs now and runs a hand through her hair. “I'm just trying to leave my bedroom, go across the hall and make out with the woman I love.” (She says it like it's simple. She says it because she _wants_ it to be simple.)  
  
“Any chance you could dig a little deeper than that for me?”  
  
“Really Pete? Deeper than the fact I love her?” she whispers in answer and now her face is so sad and uncertain that all he can do is pull her into his arms and hold her tightly.  
  
“Hey,” he says, stroking her hair. “It's gonna be okay.”  
  
“I wish I could believe that,” she tells him, and he can hear the choke in her voice that he knows she's desperately trying to hide. “I'm in love with her Pete,” she says, spitting it out like it actually _pains_ her. “But I don't even know _how_ to deal with that. She died and now she's here and somehow it's all gotten messed up and we have sex every night and then I just _leave_ because I'm so scared of what this relationship has the potential to do to me. But I don't want to just keep having sex.”  
  
She pauses. “I mean, obviously I _want_ to keep having sex. But not like this.”  
  
“So go over there. And _talk_ to her Mykes.”  
  
“But what if it _is_ just sex?” she says, sitting up now and looking at him intently. He can read the fear in her eyes and it breaks his heart a little bit.  
  
“Do you really believe that it even could be?” he asks gently. “I mean, she did _die_ for you Myka? Doesn't that tell you something?”  
  
“She died for you too,” she says in a small voice. “For all of us. For the Warehouse.”  
  
“Myka,” he says carefully. “I think we all know – and accept – that you were the primary factor in her decision. I saw the look on her face when she lowered the barrier. I saw the fear in her eyes before and the _relief_ on her face when she knew you'd be safe. And I saw her face when Artie brought the Warehouse back and she saw you standing there. Whatever happened between the two of you that night – it had to have been about more than sex.”  
  
Myka looks at her hands – can't quite bear to look at Pete's face when she makes her confession – and in a shaky voice tells him, “I didn't stay to find out. She fell asleep and I just _left_. It was too much. I just. I _felt_ too much. And then she didn't say anything and when I went to her room the next night she let me kiss her without saying a word and it just became this stupid _pattern_.”  
  
“Patterns can be broken Myka. Or turned into something new altogether. You and H.G like to solve puzzles right? Maybe the state of your relationship is just a puzzle you have to solve.”  
  
“Pete?” she says, looking at him lovingly. “When did you get _smart_?”  
  
He shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe something happened when H.G stuck her tongue down my throat.”  
  
“I really want to hit you right now,” she tells him with a laugh. “I won't though,” she continues when he begins to instinctively lean away. “Because I love you. And you've actually been really helpful tonight.”  
  
“I appreciate that,” he tells her with a sigh of relief. (He really does. Myka's punches _bruise_.)  
  
“But the next time you want to reminisce about Helena's tongue, don't think for a second I won't have my own anecdotes to tell,” she warns him with a sweet, but deadly, smile as she stands and walks to the door.  
  
“Got it. Never again,” he tells her with a solemn face. (Though inside he's smiling because she looks a little bit more like his Myka again and he hopes this will be a turning point for her. It's not that drunk Myka hasn't been _fun_ these past few days, it's just that he really can't bear to see her sad any longer.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“Hey,” Myka says softly as she opens the door to Helena's bedroom.  
  
She's sitting on her bed, with a lamp on her bedside table casting the only light, and Myka sees no books, no gadgets, no signs that Helena has been occupying herself in any way this evening. She's just been waiting.  
  
“Hey,” Helena echoes smiling at her tenderly from her bed in a way that makes her chest tighten and her stomach flutter.  
  
(It hits her in the most visceral way, that this look isn't actually _new_. It's just that Myka's been hiding from it, avoiding Helena's gaze each night by kissing her neck instead of her lips, by travelling _down_ her body and never up, by closing her eyes whenever she felt Helena's mouth on her own skin. And now she wonders just how much Helena's been looking at her that way and why she's been so afraid of seeing it, when actually it makes her feel something indescribably perfect.)  
  
“I thought you might not have been coming tonight,” she says sliding out of bed and walking to where Myka stands. She leaves barely a centimetre of space between them but she's careful with her touch, choosing to do nothing more than trace a finger down Myka's arm, gently curling her fingers around her wrist. “I'm glad you did.”  
  
“I wasn't going to,” Myka says awkwardly. “And then I was, but for the wrong reason, and now,” she looks away, uncertain. “Helena?” she asks finally, forcing herself to look at her directly now and just say what she needs to say. “Can we just _not_ have sex tonight?”  
  
(Okay, so the words come out a little wrong but the subtext is there. It's a start.)  
  
Helena's expression doesn't even change but she nods her head slightly. “We can not have sex whenever you'd like,” she answers calmly.  
  
Myka makes a face at this, screwing up her eyes and pushing back her curls with one hand (a thing Helena has noticed she does when she's confused. Or irritated. She senses it might be a combination of both right.)  
  
“Are you saying you don't want to have sex with me?” Myka asks defensively, and _mostly_ it's just deflection because Helena is so calm and _that_ makes Myka nervous, but the indignation isn't entirely unfounded either because Helena had _not_ complained about _any_ of those booty calls and Myka is quite confident – about this if nothing else – that no one else has made H.G Wells come the way she has.  
  
Helena rolls her eyes. “No! Of course I'm not saying that! I would have thought it was perfectly obvious by now that I am _more_ than amenable to your sexual advances,” she says with a low laugh and Myka feels her stroke the inside of her wrist ever so slightly. Then Helena shakes her head and her voice is soft again. “Myka, for such a smart woman, sometimes you get things awfully mixed up.”  
  
“Meaning what exactly?” Myka enquires hesitantly.  
  
“Meaning,” Helena sighs, “that _I_ would very much like this relationship to be about much more than just sex. And I want you to _talk_ to me, help me understand what _you_ want so we can try and work it out together.”  
  
Myka breathes out and she blinks back what she's embarrassed to admit are the beginnings of tears. It scares her that Helena can make her feel so intensely. She closes her eyes for a moment, steadies her breathing, and when she opens them and sees Helena simply standing there, waiting for her, she wonders how she could ever have doubted the feelings of the woman standing before her.  
  
“You know what I think I really want tonight?” Myka tells her honestly, reaching with her free hand to wrap around Helena's own wrist, just as Helena is holding hers. “I think I really want to fall asleep next to you, instead of alone.”  
  
Helena smiles at her, that same tender smile that Myka can't ever remember seeing her use in front of anybody else. “I'd like to do that that every night Myka,” she says.  
  
Myka swallows, struggling to speak, unsure how to respond to what sounds an awful lot like a proposal of _forever_. But Helena doesn't seem to mind her silence and simply walks them both to her bed.  
  
(It's okay, Myka decides. No one solves a puzzle in a single step. This is just the first. They'll figure out the rest later.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They lie side by side in the dark until Myka feels Helena shift next to her, sliding her hand across the bed to brush her thumb across the inside of Myka's wrist again. It's soft, gentle, the polar opposite of the way Helena's touched her every other time they've been in this bed.  
  
Yet it has the same effect. Myka feels alight. Her body hums and her pules races and the spaces between them feel endless. Soft fingers on her wrist aren't enough.  
  
“Helena?” she whispers.  
  
“Yes Myka?”  
  
“I really want to have sex with you right now.” (She's glad it's dark, she can feel her face burning at how needy she sounds.)  
  
Helena tries not to laugh, but she's smiling when she turns to face her. “Come here then,” she says holding out her hand as Myka slides closer. Helena rests her hand on the small of her back while Myka's fingers drift under her tank top, gripping at at Helena's waist to hold them together.  
  
Helena leans in to kiss her, pressing her lips to Myka's in a way that's slower than they're used to, but is somehow still so familiar.  
  
And then she slides her leg between Myka's own, gently rolling her on to her back and settling on top of her, allowing her to feel the full weight of her body pressing her into the bed.  
  
(It takes Myka's breath away.)  
  
It's slow; not at all like the desperate, frenzied way they've clutched at each other every night until now and Myka surrenders control, surprised at how unafraid she is to let Helena take the lead for once.  
  
Helena rolls her hips as she lets her lips wander across Myka's collarbone and beneath her Myka gasps and bites her lip. But she doesn't close her eyes. She locks them on Helena's face, allowing herself to truly see, to _drink in_ , all the desire and _love_ that's written so freely there.  
  
“Sit up,” Helena says quietly, slipping a hand behind Myka's back to help her up and quickly repositions herself in Myka's lap. She takes her time, playing with the hem of Myka's shirt, brushing her knuckles across her stomach in a way that makes Myka shiver, before finally pulling it up over her head and tossing it on the floor.  
  
First she runs her hands down Myka's spine.  
  
(Myka doesn't close her eyes.)  
  
Then her fingers brush the sides of Myka's breasts, and she dips her head to kiss the space between them, feeling the way Myka breathes in, all in a rush. She rakes her tongue over Myka's nipple, rocks her hips even harder, smiling at the soft sounds Myka makes in response.  
  
(Myka doesn't close her eyes.)  
  
Helena reaches between them, pulling her own tank top over her head, shaking her hair behind her shoulders, eyes never leaving Myka's face.  
  
She wraps her arms around Myka's waist, pulling her close until they're pressed as tightly as they can be, skin to skin, and she rocks her hips harder now as Myka's lips are on her shoulder, hot and wet, gripping Helena's ass with one hand as the other reaches for her breast, rubbing a thumb across her nipple to make her moan.  
  
(Myka doesn't close her eyes.)  
  
Myka brings her lips back to Helena's mouth now, moaning as she feels the brush of fingers toying with the waistband of her shorts and then Helena slips her hand inside them, curling her fingers between Myka's legs.  
  
(And Myka doesn't close her eyes.  
  
 _This is love_ , she thinks.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Helena is possessive in sleep.  
  
Myka wakes with Helena's head on her shoulder, her hand on her breast and a leg pressed deliciously between her own.  
  
When Myka tries to move Helena mumbles 'No', still half asleep, and moves her hand to Myka's waist, as if to hold her in place. (She can do no such thing of course - her limbs are weighted with sleep - but Myka likes the way it feels to have Helena claim her body this way.)  
  
She's awake and bursting with happiness but she doesn't get up yet. She's not willing to let Helena wake up alone again.  
  
And she _is_ quite content to trace patterns across the soft skin of her back. It makes her sigh in her sleep and Myka thinks it's one of the most beautiful sounds she's ever heard.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When Helena finally opens her eyes, Myka kisses her softly and says, “Hi,” smiling at her sleepy face. “Did you sleep well?”  
  
“Perfectly, darling,” Helena tells her, kissing her back not quite so softly.  
  
“I'm gonna go take a shower okay?” Myka says, untangling herself from the sheets and Helena's grasp.  
  
“Okay,” Helena replies, closing her eyes again as she stretches, kicking the sheets – that barely covered her to begin with – to the foot of the bed making Myka almost forget that she needs to shower, and have breakfast, and go to work like a (sort of) normal person. It's hard not to picture all the things she'd much rather be doing.  
  
But she does leave the room, and when she walk into her own, she's surprised to find Pete sitting on her bed looking less than well rested.  
  
“What are you still doing in here Pete?”  
  
“I waited up for you for a while – in case things didn't go how you wanted them to and wanted to talk. And then I fell asleep,” he says rubbing his eyes.  
  
“You're sweet. Thank you,” she tells him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting next to him.  
  
“I take it you two talked?” he enquires.  
  
“We did,” Myka answer simply, smiling.  
  
Pete narrows his eyes at her. “Must have been a long talk if you're just coming back now?” he muses.  
  
“Actually, we didn't have as much to talk about as I thought,” she confesses. “And I slept there.”  
  
So it _was_ another a booty call!” he exclaims. “I knew there was more to that smile on your face,” he teases.  
  
“Swear on my life, she didn't even get me out of my pants,” Myka tells him solemnly.  
  
“I didn't have to,” they a hear a voice say smugly. Helena's casually leaning against the doorframe looking very amused.  
  
“Busted!” Pete calls, pointing a finger at Myka who just shrugs and laughs, and it's funny, Pete thinks, because he always expected Myka to be much more coy about her love life but with Helena there's no embarrassment at all. He thinks there's something romantic about that.  
  
“Okay,” Pete says standing quickly as he looks between them both. “Glad you two are happy but I'm just gonna get out of here before I hear anything else I _really_ shouldn't,” he says as he rushes out of the room.  
  
Helena turns from the doorframe out into the hall as he passes, catching him by his shirt. “Wait, Pete.”  
  
“Yeah?” he says, trying not to notice that she's wearing a very thin singlet and very short shorts. (It's not that he's interested. But come on, he's a _guy_ and H.G Wells _is_ a beautiful woman and she _did_ kiss him once. So it's hard not to _notice_ her sometimes. Not to mention that Myka and H.G's complete lack of subtlety where their, uh, _personal_ lives are concerned doesn't exactly help matters.)  
  
But H.G is looking at him with an unusual amount of softness on her face – a look he suspects he'll come to associate solely with Myka – and suddenly he thinks he's seeing someone entirely new. This isn't H.G Wells the writer, inventor and kickass Warehouse agent he's come to know and respect (and sometimes fear.)  
  
This is Helena; a woman completely and utterly in love his best friend. She's new and unknown. It's a dichotomy that will take time to get used to.  
  
“I don't know what you said to her last night,” she tells him quietly, with sheer gratitude in her eyes. “But thank you.”  
  
“You're welcome,” he says, shrugging like it's no big deal. “Myka's my best friend Helena. I just want her to be happy.”  
  
“I know,” she replies seriously. “I promise, that's all I want for her too.”  
  
Pete feels a happy grin take hold of his face – truth is he's a closest softie, especially where Myka's concerned – and he opens his arms, leaning in for a hug but Helena steps back, putting a hand solidly on his chest with a, “Whoa there,” (like he's a _horse_ or something?) as she shakes her head.  
  
“What? I thought we were having a moment?” Pete says defensively.  
  
“Yes. I don't _do_ moments Pete. But thanks anyway,” she tells him, turning quickly back into Myka's room and Pete could swear she actually just got _more_ British than usual. He's not entirely sure he'll ever understand H.G Wells, but he concedes that if she makes Myka happy, he can probably be okay with that.  
  
“Leena better have pastries for breakfast,” he mutters to himself as he walks down the hallway. “It's the least I deserve for sorting those two out.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“So what did you have to talk to Pete about?” Myka asks her casually as Helena walks back in to her bedroom and she can't help thinking that feigned nonchalance is extremely cute on Myka. (Truth be told she thinks almost everything is cute on Myka Bering.)  
  
“Nothing important,” she answers, shrugging her shoulders.  
  
“What, you two have secrets already?” Myka says lightly, but Helena hears the undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice and it makes her swallow uncomfortably, distressed by the idea that she can still cause doubt or fear in Myka's mind.  
  
She shakes her head as she crosses the room to stand in front of Myka and brush a finger across her cheek tenderly trying to make her feel, through touch, what she's not sure she can adequately convey in words. “No secrets Myka,” she says gently. “I was just thanking him.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For whatever he said to you last night that brought you to my room, asking _not_ to have sex.” She tries not to smile – she doesn't want Myka to think she's treating this trivially – but she can't help it, the memory is filled with too much _joy_ , and yes amusement even, that it brings a quirk to her lips.  
  
Myka shifts her gaze, clearly taken by surprise. “What makes you think Pete had anything to do with it?”  
  
“He did, didn't he?” Helena asks simply.  
  
“Well, yes, okay he sort of... completely did,” she answers hurriedly, finally returning her eyes to Helena's, “But it _could_ have been all me! I mean, I would have found the courage eventually,” she insists.  
  
“I have no doubt darling,” Helena says calmly, smiling at her. “Besides, if you hadn't, I had no intention of simply letting things continue as they were. I would have changed the rules at some point.”  
  
“You weren't content to just have meaningless sex every night?” Myka tries to joke now.  
  
But Helena's face turns serious instead. “It _always_ had meaning Myka.”  
  
“I know,” Myka answers in a low but utterly _truthful_ voice. “I do,” she tells her, gripping her hand tightly. “I just - I was scared and it was easier not to deal with it.”  
  
“Are you still scared?” Helena asks.  
  
“A little,” Myka tells her honestly. “But mostly in a good way.”  
  
Helena smiles now, and kisses her softly. She understands. Love _is_ scary. And there are times she looks at Myka and can't see anything but the absolute destruction of her heart. It _is_ terrifying. Until she thinks of all the days ahead of them – days she never dreamed she would have in this strange corner of time and space – and there can be no fear because there's simply no room for it to exist amongst so much joy.  
  
Love and fear are common, if not entirely equal, companions; she's certain they can learn to navigate them both.  
  
She feels Myka smiling into their kiss and pulls back to look at her face, finding it alight with happiness and and amusement, a look in her eye that Helena suspects she'll come to anticipate and adore.  
  
“You know,” Myka says playfully, as she slides her arms around Helena's neck, pressing herself close. “I actually think the sex is helping to _allay_ my fears now. I'm much less scared this morning than I was last night, so we must be doing something right.”  
  
Helena laughs a little, smiling back at her, hands settling around her waist as she thinks how glad she is to be seeing this side of Myka again.  
  
“Well then,” she answers in a low voice (a voice that makes Myka go weak at the knees in a way no one else ever has) “I think we had better keep working on that.”  
  
“You know, I'm also a little afraid of small spaces. That involve water. Maybe a little immersion therapy would help?” Myka whispers, leaning closer.  
  
“Shower it is darling,” Helena murmurs as she brushes their lips together.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Downstairs Pete and Claudia learn that the B &B's bathroom is most definitely _not_ soundproof.  
  
“What the hell Pete? I thought Myka had employed you as her bodyguard to _end_ the booty calls!” Claudia grumbles as she pours her coffee.  
  
“I did!” he yells somewhat defensively, and dropping his voice when Claudia looks at him pointedly as if to sarcastically say _Good job buddy_ , “I got Myka to talk to her, figure out where they stand... They're together officially and everything. So this isn't so much a booty call as it is, I dunno, the Honeymoon phase?”  
  
“What have you done?” Claudia demands in mock horror, grabbing her breakfast and relocating out to the porch.  
  
“I really have no idea,” Pete answers to an empty room with a sigh as he stuffs a bear claw in his mouth.  
  
  
  
---


End file.
